


You Disgust Me

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: (sorry omg), (the sex is only implied), Hate Sex, Kiss with blood, M/M, Rivalry, Slavery mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Anders ruin one of Hawke's mission because of their petty hate for each other. Thus, they are told to talk it out, so it won't happen again.</p><p>They do a lot more than just talking in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Disgust Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yoschag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoschag/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for Vanda!!! She wanted some disgusting hate fueled Fenders, so I hope this is hate fueled enough (´,,•ω•,,) ♤ Fenris and Anders have such a beautiful blackrom, I'm really happy I managed to write this ahh
> 
> (this is unbeta'd so feel free to point out any flaws to me, dear readers)
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS VANDA!!! ♡♡♡ I hope you like it!!!
> 
> \---

It was a simple affair, really. Go to the coast, find the slavers camp, take out the men and save the elves that were taken from the alienage to be sold as slaves, and flee. Hawke had insisted Anders join him and Isabela, in case any of the elves needed healing, and only as an afterthought informed him Fenris was coming along.

_Of course._

Hawke let Isabela go ahead first, slipping through the shadows to assess the camp, as he watched the darkness for any sings of the rogue. Bored and still annoyed at Hawke for  _conveniently_ not informing him of his fourth companion for the evening, Anders picked on a groove on his wooden staff with his nail. Besides him, as far as possible while still being close enough to Hawke, Fenris glared, as if the tiniest noises coming from Anders could get under his skin and make him want to throttle someone - preferably Anders, if possible.

“Fenris. Anders.” Hawke growled, making the healer jump. “Not today,  _please_.”

“I wouldn’t bet my money on the  _abomination_ listening to the voice of reason if I were you, Hawke,” Fenris growled,  _the little shit,_ making Anders grumble, annoyed. Hawke rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah,  _I’m_ the one not listening to Hawke,  _clearly_.”

“That's the opposite of _not today,_ ” Hawke gritted between his teeth, shooting a glare behind his shoulder to signal that the argument was over before it even had a change to begin. Both Fenris and Anders frowned, looking away from each other, and Hawke shook his head, looking back at where Isabela should reappear. Something in Ander’s gut churned uncomfortably. This was a very bad start to what was supposed to be a simple, quick evening.

Bela came back a couple of minutes later, startling Anders into hurting himself with a wood splinter beneath his nail, making Fenris snort. The healer glared again, wanting nothing more than to choke the elf until that shit-eating grin vanished from his face once and for all, but he held himself back, if only because that would just incite a fight between the two men, and then Hawke would  _actually_ strangle him just as well for ruining his evening.

Wouldn’t be the first time, either.

Bela told Hawke what he needed to know: four slavers, all apparently asleep, plus one soldier on watch. The slave cart was on the opposite side of the camp, and she should be able to open it, easy peasy. Putting the slavers down for the count and looting their meager camp shouldn’t prove too hard afterwards. Hawke nodded and looked back at Anders and Fenris, glaring briefly before speaking again.

“You two,  _play nice_. This is serious, and I don’t want to screw it up. Anders, you go with Bela, help her get the elves safe. Fenris, you come with me, and we’ll put down the slavers before they realize what’s happening.”

Fenris shot a look at Anders - a look that said “ _ha, I win_ ,” and it made Ander’s blood  _boil_. He frowned, getting up quickly and walking ahead of Bela, grumbling under his breath as the pirate giggled softly. Hawke sighed and walked the other way.

Anders knew he shouldn’t let the elf affect him this way. He did it on purpose, to get a rise out of Anders, and time and time again the apostate gave him exactly what he hoped for: a reaction. It made Anders both mad at the prickly elf, for being so annoying, and at himself, for letting him get to him that way.

In a surge of anger, halfway towards the slaves’ cage, he spotted a tiny rock on the floor, which he kicked with all his might, sending it flying over the grass and hoping it’d tumble down the hill and into the sea waters below.

Instead, it shot straight into a strategically positioned pile of clay pots and glass jars.

The pebble hit the bottom pot first, breaking into it with a loud  _crash_ , and then the other pots atop it went tumbling down, the noise nearly deafening in the completely silent evening. At first, Anders froze, eyes wide as his whole body seized up, blood running cold, and when he looked up he could see Isabela was staring at him like he’d grown a second head out of his own free will. A few feet away from them, Hawke had ducked, swiftly hiding as his eyes darted around for any signs of the sentinel, but when he tried to pull Fenris with him, the elf had shrugged him off violently, his gauntlets clacking loudly as he opened and closed his fists threateningly, eyes bearing holes into the healer.

Anders was snapped out of his shock as he was pulled along by Isabela towards the cage, almost at the same moment a voice screamed out from somewhere behind them, Fenris turning his head sharply as the sentinel caught sight of the elf, standing right in the middle of the camp. Bela cursed under her breath, throwing Anders to the ground as she rolled to a stop and started working on the lock of the cage, the elves inside quietly watching her work.

“New plans. Fenris is  _apparently_ providing a distraction while you and I let these guys go,” she whispered hurriedly, Anders sitting up just as the lock clicked out and the sound of steel hitting steel began roaring from the camp behind them.

“But Hawke! We have to--”

“ _I’ll_ go help Hawke,  _you_ -” she tore open the cage, the elves stepping out hurriedly, flinching with the sounds of the ongoing battle behind them, “-are the expert on getting people out of places safely  _and_ unnoticed. Make use of that skill, sparkle fingers.”

Before Anders could reply, Isabela was throwing a dagger at the general area where the brawl was happening before dashing away. The healer cursed under his breath, eyes roaming around the seven elves, who fidgeted awkwardly as they waited for further instructions.

“Can all of you walk?” He asked, and when he got an affirmative answer from all of them, he nodded. There was a tunnel, not too far from where they were, that led to darktown, which he’d used before to smuggle apostates out of Kirkwall. It’d do. “Right. Follow me.”

\---

Two hours later, having seen that all the elves were back and safe at their own homes, Anders was finally back at his clinic, and apparently he was being expected. Hawke had a nasty gash on his arm, a bloodied cloth soaking up the worse of the blood, and Isabela was holding one of her wrists with a twisted, pained expression. Fenris... well, Fenris looked as unhappy as they all did, but all Anders saw were a few bruises and scratches; Hawke's barriers must’ve worked well tonight. He felt bad for not being there for them at the heat of the battle, but leaving the elves to stand and watch as it wore on could be dangerous, not to mention potentially traumatizing.

Almost as if on instinct, Anders walked towards Hawke first, getting an angry growl and a heated glare from the mage.

“Isabela’s fingers are  _numb_ , Anders. I won’t have to cut my arm off over a  _gash_. See to her first.”

 _Right._ Broken wrist first.  _Of course_. He apologized to Bela, but she just shrugged, although her face was still pained. He pried her good fingers off and gingerly held the swollen wrist in his hand, calling forth his healing magic to assess the damages.

A few fractures, a sprained tendon, lots of fucked up blood veins. Nothing he couldn’t fix.

Bela hissed as he worked, focusing on the tiny details of the injuries to make sure he was mending the bones right, and not two minutes later he let go of the pirate’s wrist, smiling despite the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. Isabela twisted her hand about, grinning.

“Good as new. Thanks, kitten.”

“Anytime,” he said, then turned to Hawke, biting his lip as he looked down at the still bleeding arm, now uncovered. “Can I...?”

If Hawke could glare daggers into Anders, actual physical and  _very_ sharp daggers, he would’ve, right then and there, so Anders just nodded and stepped forward, quickly focusing on the wound and on mending the muscle together seamlessly.

“Trust the abomination to think with his penis first,” Fenris grumbled, loud enough for Anders to hear, and the healer huffed out, finishing with Hawke’s arm to stare at Fenris, tilting his chin up, defiantly.

“Well! Trust the broody elf to--”

“ _ENOUGH!!!_ ”

Hawke stood up, chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon, and by the Maker, Anders had never seen him look so  _mad_ before.

In any other situation it’d probably be hot, but as it was, Anders was nearly pissing himself.

“ _You_ ,” he spat out, pointing a finger at the healer, “ruined the whole fucking thing, throwing a tantrum! You  _knew_ we had to be extra quiet,  _as we always are_ , and you go and you  _kick a pebble_?! What were you even thinking?!”

Fenris grinned from behind Hawke, most likely at the look of horror in Anders’ face, looking highly pleased with the turn of events. “Agreed,” the elf said, nodding. “It was extremely childish--”

“--And  _you_ _!_ ” Hawke shouted, turning around completely to send his death glare onto Fenris, who clearly wasn’t expecting it by the way he flinched and nearly stepped away from the mage. “Why in the Maker's name you had to keep inciting Anders for?! Even worse, when you heard that our cover was blown, you shrugged me off instead of hiding, and then you made sure that every-fucking-one in camp knew the pots breaking wasn't just the wind, or a stray animal, because you had to glare at Anders like he’d personally offended you! And because of that, we let one of the slavers escape!!!”

The elf had no reply to Hawke’s outburst, and Anders knew it was because he was right. Both of them screwed up, big time, and they had no way to fix it. Hawke panted, exhausted, then turned back to Anders, addressing them both.

“You two are going to sit the fuck down and work this out.  _Tonight_ ,” he hissed when both men made to protest. “No fucking excuses. I don’t want to risk another failed mission because you two have unresolved issues with one another.”

“Hey, it’s the elf who--”

“ _Anders_ ,” Hawke said, and by Andraste’s sake, his voice dripped with venom. “Tonight. You will. Talk it out. I don't care who started it, and I don’t care why. You’re going to shake hands, and find a way to deal with it.”

When neither man had anything to say no longer, Hawke nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get Aveline out of bed to let her know we let one of the bastards got away. Good night.”

The mage got up, walking away and stomping his feet, and Isabela  _tsk_ ’d under her breath, standing between Anders and Fenris and placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

“You two are in trou-ble,” she sing-sang, then chuckled and walked out, wishing them both good luck. Anders sighed, slumping into a chair as he worked to open his buckles and slipped off his shorter coat, wondering how he would even be able to talk to the elf.

Fenris, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. Once the shock had apparently passed, he stalked past the mage with wide steps. Anders looked up and frowned. “Where are you going? We’re supposed to talk!”

“Not in a dirty hovel that stinks like elfroot, I’m not. I need a strong drink for this.”

\---

Anders followed Fenris through the passage that led to hightown, shivering slightly since he’d nearly fled from his clinic without his smaller coat on. The elf walked ahead as if Anders wasn’t even coming along with him, but when he entered his shady mansion he left the door ajar, like an unspoken invitation. Anders walked through and closed it behind him, glad to have the warmth from the walls of the mansion, although he wasn’t as happy to notice the place has been as much of a dump as the last time he was in it - which was, coincidentally, the day when Hawke finally convinced everyone to help him dump the corpses from Fenris’ mansion, under Fenris’ constant and vehement protests.

The elf in question was already lounging on his armchair, wine bottle uncorked on his hand, the gauntlet clacking against the thick glass as he casually tapped a finger against it. Anders made his way through the room and sat across from him, making Fenris raise a single brow as he looked Anders over and noted not only the lack of his feathers, but also the unmade buckles of his long coat, which hung open and revealed his dirty undershirt. Anders blushed.

“I wasn’t expecting you to rush ahead like that.” He straightened his clothes, feeling self-conscious, but the elf just shrugged and brought the wine to his lips.

“Suit yourself,” Fenris grumbled, his voice deep and thick as usual, and offered the wine bottle to Anders, which the healer accepted, albeit hesitantly. It was the kindest gesture he’d ever received from Fenris. After he took a sip, the lukewarm drink burning down his throat and making him shudder, he heard the man sigh. “We really did screw things up today, didn’t we.”

At first, Anders wanted to retort, to insist that if wasn’t for Fenris being… well,  _Fenris_ , none of it would’ve happened, but he held himself back, remembering Hawke’s words, to  _talk it out_ , and not to fight again. He settled on shrugging and taking another sip of the fruity wine. “I guess.”

“And now Hawke wants us to talk,” Fenris continued, as if Anders hadn’t said anything, and the mage wondered if he was also holding himself back so he wouldn’t say anything snarky or potentially aggressive either. “To be fairly honest, I’m not sure what about.”

 _Because we’re such good friends who get along so well, aren’t we_ , Anders thought. “Well,” he said instead, “maybe we could start on explaining  _why_ you hate  _me_ specifically so much? And don’t say  _all mages are shits_ , because I  _know_ you like Hawke. A  _lot_.” When the elf glared, Anders offered the wine bottle back, which he took a bit more forcefully than needed, making Anders raise his hands. “I’m just saying, it can’t be  _just_ his good looks. I’m handsome, too, but apparently you don’t care about my strong jaw or my piercing eyes, so it’s probably something else.”

“Don’t compare yourself to Hawke,  _abomination_ ,” Fenris growled, grip tightening around the bottle as he leaned forward on his seat, and Anders rolled his eyes.

“Oh, again with the ‘abomination’ thing? Justice is…” Anders stopped for a moment, trying to come up with the right word to describe the spirit. None came to mind. Justice, however, supplied plenty, although Anders ignored him completely.  “…not as bad as I might make him seem like. He’s… well, very passionate about, you know, justice things. We have that in common, I guess.”

“And that is exactly my point. You are passionate about a subject that I do not agree on. The circles are important to keep mages from corrupting themselves and others with their power.”

Anders huffed, annoyed for the beginnings of a discussion he was more than tired of having. “You say that as if a skilled knight with a sword cannot be corrupted by power just the same!”

“Having magic and owning a sword are  _not_ the same thing!”

“Why, because demons can’t possess and corrupt regular people and use their weapons against innocents?! Oh wait,  _they can!_ ”

“Regular people aren’t as appealing to demons as mages are, which makes you more dangerous than you care to admit, mage.”

“Doesn’t mean we all succumb to them if we have a choice!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk! You are literally a vessel for a demon because you wanted more power, and you think that’s okay?!”

“I didn’t  _want_ more power, I was trying to  _help_ him!”

“You were trying to  _help a demon_ and you still think you’re justified in your actions? Wake up, Anders!”

“He’s not a demon, he’s a spirit of the fade!”

“They’re all the same thing, you idiot!”

“They’re  _not_!”

“Oh so you’re an expert on the fade, now? Don’t fool yourself by making up excuses to admonish your actions, mage. You saw an opportunity to have more power, and you took it.” Fenris got up and spat on the floor, right before where Anders was now standing too, face red from the argument. How did things get so heated so fast? He didn’t even realize he’d gotten up in the first place. “You’re just like the magisters of Tevinter. Greedy. Corrupted. An excuse at the tip of their tongue for every wrong doing they ever do. Maybe you weren’t that man once, but  _now_ you are, and I cannot stand by and pretend I tolerate your presence. You  _sicken_ me.”

For a moment, Anders had no comeback, his skin momentarily crackling blue as Justice shouted in his head, wanting to surface and argue with the elf, to tell him off for being so spectacularly  _wrong_ , and Fenris took the opportunity to sneer at him, lip raising in disgust, as if that reaction alone just proved his whole point - which it probably did, in a way. He took another swig of the bottle and stepped away, like the argument was over. Anders shook his head, grabbing at his hair as he pushed the spirit back, begging Justice not to do this,  _not now_ , because he’d just prove Fenris he was right, and Justice didn’t want—  _Justice_ —

No.

_Fenris was right._

“Okay, maybe I fucked up!” Anders shouted, making Fenris stop on his tracks and look back over his shoulder. “Maybe— _I fucked up_ , okay? Justice is too much for me to handle at times, and he’s  _way_ more passionate about everything than I ever was. But- but he’s not all bad! The reason he wanted to stay in this plane and not go back to the fade was because, because he saw with me the worse of the circles, he saw that the things that happen within them are unthinkable,  _unspeakable_ —”

“The circles are  _necessary_ ,” Fenris growled, “otherwise the same thing that happened  _and still happens_ in Tevinter would just happen everywhere else.”

“Tevinter is a  _very_ specific case, Fenris, and you know it,” Anders argued, gritting his teeth in frustration. “The mages and magisters of the imperium are  _not_ an example for the mages in Thedas. I was taken away from my family so young I don’t even remember my birth name. I had friends who were taken even younger and have never seen the outside world. I’ve seen kids get beaten, abused,  _raped_ … by Andraste’s sake, I was in solitary confinement for  _a year_ , Fenris, just for wanting to get away from all of that!  _Maker,_  the man I loved was made tranquil, an empty thing without feelings, for  _writing me letters_! You can’t possibly tell me those are all  _necessary_ things!”

Fenris stepped forward, hauling Anders by the gruff of his linen shirt and lifting him up, lyrium markings glowing as the fabric ripped under his hand and between his sharp gauntlets. Anders looked down at the elf and kept his glare firm, but he focused mostly in not letting Justice come forth. The fact that Fenris shook with rage but had no immediate comeback was enough proof that he struggled to rebut Anders’ argument.

“Not all circles are like that, mage,” Fenris growled, and Anders let out a short chuckle.

“These good circles, whether you believe it or not, Fenris, are the exception. The vast majority of the system is beyond corrupted. You were a  _slave_ ,” and at that Fenris tightened his grip, pulling the mage further off the ground, forcing Anders to hold Fenris’ wrists to keep his balance. “You  _know_ how it feels, to be trapped, stripped off your basic rights, to only know how to fear and obey the people who have control over you. How is that any different from how the Templars treats us nowadays? How can you not  _sympathize_?”

“You lose sympathy when you learn what magic can do to someone,” he growled, throwing Anders to the floor, the man letting out a low ‘ _oof_ ’ as he skid on the dirty tiles. “You learn to  _fear_ it, to  _hate_ it. Don’t you dare blame me for these things.”

“I don’t,” Anders sighed out, getting up from the floor and looking into Fenris’ eyes, firmly. “I understand it. But in that case, you should also understand that I feel for Templars the way you feel for mages.” He rubbed the back of his neck, pulling on his hair. This was harder than he thought it would be. “If you had a chance to... to change Tevinter, to have the power _not_ for the sake of more power, but to  _change_ that shithole, once and for all, end the power abuse, the slavery,  _everything_...  wouldn’t you take it?”

Fenris glared at him, watching him sideways, as if assessing him. “This is about the demon, isn’t it?”

“He’s not...!”  _Deep breaths, Anders. No more shouting._ “The  _spirit_ , yes. It is.”

“Then the answer is no.” Anders gaped, ready to argue back, but Fenris continued. “Tevinter is beyond help, and even if it wasn’t, they would never listen to the pleas of someone such as myself, a runaway slave, because they could never and would never see me as someone worth listening. Much the same way your...  _Justice_ demon doesn’t _make_ anyone hear you. You’re just shouting in the dark, hoping someone will listen to your plight. And your manifest? As of now, they are merely scribbles the Templars will never pay attention to.” Fenris watched as Anders deflated, shoulders slumping as he crossed his arms. “You have considered this before, haven’t you.”

“So what you’re saying is that my cause is a lost one?”

“No, I’m saying that your cause may be a noble one, but the change must come from the ones who hold the power, not the oppressed, and  _that_ is a lost cause. People in position of power, be them Templars or magisters, they will never give their positions up, no matter how many other people that forfeit would benefit. If you and I are the ones fighting for changes, we’ll just die without making a difference. Just another nameless body in a ditch somewhere.”

“So, what? We’re all just supposed to take it?” The healer asked, growing frustrated, and Fenris just shrugged.

“We have our own ways of rebelling against the system. You smuggle out mages from the circle, I kill slavers without mercy. We make do. We survive.”

“Surviving is not living, it’s constantly running from your oppressors, Fenris. I  _refuse_ to accept it. And you’re wrong. One person  _can_ make a difference.”

Fenris sighed deeply, shaking his head in defeat. “You are a fool, Anders. The demon has made you beyond delusional. Go home. We’re done here.”

Anders saw  _red_.

Rationally, he knew Fenris was making sense, in a way, but a part of him just couldn’t stand the elf backtalking him like that. Before he knew, he was right before the elf, clenched fist connecting with the man’s jaw, Fenris’ piercing green eyes staring at him in bewilderment.

He pulled his fist back as Fenris’ lyrium markings began to glow white, and with an unparalleled speed the elf had kneed the mage in the gut, making him double over and gasp. The next second his gauntlet was smashing against his jaw, and Anders knew that would leave a considerate mark.

“Go. Home.” Fenris growled, enunciating each word slowly and fiercely, and Anders looked up, spitting a mouthful of blood onto Fenris’ shoulder and raising his fist to punch Fenris again.

This time the elf was prepared, reaching up to hold Anders’ wrist just inches away from his already bruised cheek, the points where the glowing lyrium markings made contact with Ander’s skin _tingling_ , and when the mage made to raise his other hand he grabbed that one too, shoving the man against the empty shelf in his living room. Anders screamed in pain, his back bending at an awkward position given the angle he was pinned, and Fenris leaned forward, snarling just inches away from his face.

“Stop being an  _idiot_ , Anders. What are you trying to accomplish with this?”

 _Crack_. Anders surged forward, forehead connecting painfully with Fenris’ nose and smashing it. The elf cried out but didn’t move away, eyes shutting tightly as he increased the pressure of his grip on Anders’ hands, making the tip of the mage’s fingers go numb, pain shooting down his arms from where the gauntlets sunk into his skin and the thin bones from his wrists threatened to break under the pressure. Anders waited until Fenris opened his eyes again, which gleamed with unshed tears from the pain and  _burned_  with a seething rage, nose bleeding down freely over his mouth and staining his bared teeth red. Anders sneered at him.

“ _Make me_.”

The next few seconds were a blur.

Fenris  _lunged_ , and for a moment Anders figured the elf was about to return the “favour” and break his nose, too, but instead Fenris pressed his body against Anders’, pushing him further against the wood, an instant before his bloodied lips crashed against the mage’s. It wasn’t gentle or delicate; far from it. Their teeth clacked, the taste and smell of blood overwhelming the mage as his fingers spasm uselessly above his head, Fenris’ grip tight as the elf dominated his mouth, nipping and biting and  _pulling_  until he drew blood, then licking it away.

For a moment, Anders was too stunned to do anything but take it, but when Fenris pressed even closer, tongue insistent and oh so warm against his mouth, less like a question and more like a demand, he closed his eyes and complied, allowing the blood to mingle with the taste of the elf’s own mouth, something that felt warm and sharp like lyrium, hips bucking as the tingling over his wrists grew stronger, his back arching and his head leaning forward and pressing harder against the other man’s mouth.

They were both lost in the heat of the kiss in less than a heartbeat, so much that when Fenris slipped one of his hands from Anders’ wrists to tangle it in his hair, Anders didn’t even manage to bring his hand down from where it lay, pinpricks of pain and a ghostly reminder of the lyrium where it touched him making his fingers twitch as blood rushed back to them. At first he felt the wandering hand gently caressing his head, but he sharply reminded himself,  _this is Fenris_ , just as the elf fisted his hand and  _pulled_ , making Anders’ scalp burn painfully and his lips fall open in a gasp as his head was forcefully tilted backwards, the elf purposefully smashing it against one of the higher shelves.

“You  _disgust_ me, mage,” Fenris growled in between clenched teeth, lips brushing against Anders’ bruised ones, face smeared with blood and nose beginning to turn black from his injury. Anders opened his eyes, head spinning just slightly from the hit, and he looked down at the elf, his lyrium markings glowing so brightly it hurt Anders’ eyes to look at them directly. A low hum and a mix of cold and warmth filled the air between them, and behind the fog of lust and slight lyrium overload that filled his mind, Anders felt the familiar pull of the fade around them both, stronger than anything he’d felt before. It was almost like stepping into the fade itself, and it made him feel _bold_.

“Funny way you have of showing it,” he joked with what he hoped was an impish grin, sounding just slightly breathless. He licked his lips through the pain that was partially numbed by the adrenalin and the feel of too much lyrium rushing through his body, and continued. “I mean,  _I_ wouldn’t stick my tongue into something I find disgusting, but what do I know, that’s probably just me and my weird mage-y ways, I guess.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Fenris snarled, then dove in and kissed Anders again.

This time, when Anders tried to slip his wrist off Fenris’ iron grip, the elf let him, then promptly bunched the already ripped undershirt in his hand and pulled Anders closer to him, the mage letting a groan of relief for not being pressed against the hard shelf wood anymore and a moan of pleasure as the hand in his hair slipped down and held his nape instead, his whole body thrumming as he felt the markings beneath the elf’s clothes and light armour, the sensation searing into Andrers’ skin as if there weren’t any barriers between their bodies. He thought about how it’d feel to hold Fenris against him like that but without any clothes on, touching flesh to flesh from head to toes, and he whined against the other man’s lips, dick throbbing painfully inside his pants.

If anyone ever told Anders that he’d someday kiss  _Fenris_  of all people, he’d laugh out loud and call the person insane. If they insisted on the matter and even told him he’d _enjoy_ the kiss, he’d ask to have whatever strong drink they were having. But Anders would have  _never_ imagined kissing  _anyone_ like this. In his mind, in the scenarios where Anders kissed Fenris – because he had thought about it once or twice before he  _really_ knew Fenris, he’s only human after all – he imagined rough touches meant to arouse, to entice, but never to  _actually_ do harm.

But Fenris kissed Anders with teeth, scratching until it stung, drawing blood until it bead, lips smearing it all over his lips and face. He grasped with the intent to bruise, nails digging into the skin, fingers twisting into his hair, scratching his scalp, his neck, his cheeks.

Anders gripped the elf’s shirt and tried to give back as much heat as he was being given, but he wasn’t meant for this, for this violent struggle of dominance. Anders was much, much weaker than Fenris’, and both of them  _knew_  it, especially when Anders realized Justice’s voice was just a mere buzz on the back of his mind, absolutely silent and dormant for the first time in years. But instead of being frightened or spooked by it, Anders took the spirit’s retreat as a good sign as any, and gave in wholly to the sensations, to the pain and the sting and the arousal, and he melted into it, fighting back only half-heartedly, showing Fenris he might be willing to submit, but he wouldn’t go down easily. If he wanted him, he’d have to  _fight_  for it.

A wandering hand strayed down towards Fenris’ crotch, and Anders cupped what he felt to be an erection almost as hard as his own behind Fenris’ brown leggings. But as if on instinct, Fenris’ hand darted down and grasped Anders’ wrist again, gauntlet fitting perfectly over the fresh bruises and making the healer gasp in pain as his hand was quickly pulled it away, as if its mere touch and gentle brush of fingers over the elf’s erection had stung him painfully, Fenris’ free hand gripping Anders’ jaw roughly to keep it in place, nails scratching against the mage’s stubble.

They stopped for a moment to look at one another, both men nearly a mirror image of each other: drying blood smeared all over their lips, chests heaving, breathing quick and labored, eyes half lidded and clouded with lust, searching each other’s for answers, for a sign. But Anders saw in Fenris’ eyes a hint of doubt, an unspoken plea, and worse of all,  _shame_ , and his chest throbbed painfully, a sensation that had nothing to do with any of his injuries. He let his free hand grip the back of Fenris’ shirt even tighter, just once, making it feel like an apology as well as a small reassurance, his open mouth breathing out hotly into Fenris’ parted lips. Waiting. Asking for permission.  _Begging_.

Fenris’ lyrium markings pulsed, once, twice, and then, without a word, he dove back onto Anders’ mouth, and it was all the reassurance either one of them needed.

\---

“I see you two talked it out.”

Anders and Fenris arrived together early in the morning at the barracks in the Viscount’s Keep, where Hawke was already waiting for them. Both were already bathed and wearing fresh clothes, and although they still kept at a respectable distance from each other, Hawke’s comment made Anders realize for the first time how relaxed they both actually were in each other’s presence.

Maybe they also had a bit of a morning after glow, result of a night  _very_ well spent, but that was information only Anders and Fenris held, and they weren’t about to give it up anytime soon.

Not to mention their matching blooming purple bruises, one on Anders’ cheekbone and the other over Fenris’ nose. Anders made sure to heal them both of the worse of their lasting wounds as soon as they were awake, but Fenris insisted he leave the superficial marks. For some reason, Anders agreed on it, and he was glad to see that Fenris wore his bruise as proudly as Anders felt for putting it there in the first place.

“Yes, we talked, and... resolved our differences,” Fenris said, casually, and Anders fought back a chuckle and a blush that threatened to rise to his cheeks. He smirked though, just a small upturn of his lips, and Hawke smiled, probably thinking Fenris just meant they talked more with their fists than with actual words, which... wouldn’t be  _completely_ incorrect, in a sense, nor the first time. Anders felt like the less their inner group knew what  _really_ happened between them the night before, the better, so if Hawke thought they had a fight, he wouldn’t be the one to correct him.

Maker's breath, Isabela and Varric would  _never_  let him live it down if they ever found out.

“ _Fenris!_ ” A hard voice boomed throughout the walls, echoing around the nearly empty hallway. The few guards around glanced towards the group, but once they noted that the voice belonged to no one other than their mighty captain, looking sourer than a lime this early in the morning, they quickly turned back to their own business and walked away to make sure to give the unlucky subjects of Aveline’s ire some well-deserved space. “I swear to the Maker, I will  _burn_ that mansion to the ground!”

Hawke looked confused for a second, then glanced back at both Anders and Fenris. “Uh, good morning to you too, Aveline. Did you find the--”

“ _Yes_ , Hawke, we located the slaver, he’s in our possession.” Aveline quickly spat out, then immediately turned back to Fenris, her glare burning holes into the elf. Fenris put both his hands up in a sign of peace, apparently just as confused as the other two men. She looked around to make sure they were alone, then continued in a hushed but heated voice. “You’re  _lucky_ half of my guards were tracking that man instead of doing their rounds, because I went by your mansion last night, and  _Maker help me_ , Fenris! Your mansion is supposed to be  _abandoned_ , and I can’t keep changing my men’s roster to avoid the estate if the surrounding neighbours keep hearing and complaining about the noises of people  _shouting_ and  _moaning_ coming from its  _supposedly_ _empty_ halls in the dead of the night!”

Hawke, at first, looked even more confused. His brows furrowed, and he pouted, seemingly deep in thought. Anders tensed, but avoided saying anything; they were supposed to have fought yesterday, so maybe that could still be used as their cover story? Fenris straightened his back, pinching his lips, but he at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. Aveline sighed loudly again, pinching the bridge of her nose as if fighting back a headache.

“Look, I don’t care who you bed and who you don’t, Fenris, and I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but for the love of the Maker, if you want to be loud, _be loud at The Rose_ , and if you want to keep it in your home,  _tell your lovers to be quiet."_

 _Ohhhh shit,_ Anders thought, holding his breath.

Realization slowly dawned on Hawke, and his confused face quickly unfurled into disgust, then into amusement, finally settling into shock, and at that point Anders couldn’t hide the burning blush that quickly rose on his pale cheeks. Fenris looked away, hand on his mouth, cheeks darkening as well, while Aveline looked more and more confused by the second. Then the captain just quietly went, “Oh,” then, “it’s too early for this shit,” as she walked away, banging the door of her office behind her.

“You...!” Hawke stammered, pointing at a growingly distressed Fenris, who looked like a cornered, wet cat. “And you!” He then pointed at Anders, whose ears and collarbone were turning red as well, and the healer recoiled a little, biting his lip. “And! And you?! You two...?!” Hawke then settled on gesturing wildly at both his friends, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he made various indistinguishable squeaks and noises. “ _Andraste’s grace_ , I told you to  _talk it out_ , not...! Not  _that!_ Whatever  _that_ even is?!  _Maker_...!”

Fenris finally stepped forward, trying to calm the mage down by letting him know that what happened between him and Anders wasn’t a big deal, which only made things _slightly_ worse, and right then, right there, Anders knew for a fact everyone in their group would end up knowing eventually.  _Oh, well_ , he thought. If the price was seeing that particular look on Hawke’s face, at least for a moment, it was well worth it.


End file.
